


pull me apart, i'm so open

by nuuneyraegon



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, also they get caught oops, specifically about a year after the end of the game, they're in love guys...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuuneyraegon/pseuds/nuuneyraegon
Summary: He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be touched like this, adored like this, thoroughly and completely loved like this by the single most talented person he knows. He doesn’t deserve it, but it’s still happening - so what’s the point in being so caught up in the “why”, anyway?
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 20
Kudos: 303





	pull me apart, i'm so open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huxian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huxian/gifts), [also myself lmao](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=also+myself+lmao).



> hi. i wrote this because it's my 18th birthday and i'm bitter. i've been stewing in my juices for a good two months, guys. 
> 
> ryuji deserves the world and i'm here to vicariously give it to him through akira.

As Akira pulls back with a slightly wet noise, a few thin strings of saliva still trailing between their lips and his hands set precariously between Ryuji’s stomach and the waistband of his boxers, the only thing that enters the latter’s brain is how goddamn _gorgeous_ he looks. His eyes, usually hidden behind those thick-framed glasses (which were set down on the table a long time ago), are clouded over, his thick, dark lashes fluttering slightly with every breath he takes. He’s flushed - only a little bit, but it _shows_ on his pale skin, as does the sweat visibly beading on his cheeks. Ryuji doesn’t even want to know what _he_ looks like right now, but he pushes that thought away.

Akira seems to notice the staring, and before Ryuji can say or do anything he just laughs, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand and leaning in to plant another few gentle kisses on his face. Ryuji reaches up, tangling his fingers in Akira’s hair, and he feels a soft, contented sigh against his cheek as he combs through the strands, carefully rubbing his scalp with light, slow touches. His skin prickles with each movement, each touch of Akira’s lips - every bit of his body has become so sensitive, so _raw_ over the past hour or so.

They were going to study. Really, they were. But it was all too easy to get distracted, what with a lockable door and an otherwise deserted apartment, and the next thing Ryuji knew there were clothes on the floor. Lots of clothes on the floor. The only thing that either of them still have on is their underwear, and even that probably won’t last very long judging by how _hungry_ Ryuji realizes he is for the affection he’s being showered with, the feeling of Akira’s hands trailing carefully across his ribs, contact so light that he _knows_ the asshole is teasing him. He lets out an impatient groan, only for it to be swallowed up again by Akira’s mouth, that familiar air of coffee and some herbal scent he can’t quite place wrapping themselves around his brain.

After they break apart for the sixth or seventh time (it’s not like he’s bothered to keep count, so it might be a different number entirely, fuck if he knows), Akira backs up against the wall, perching himself on the edge of the bed. Then he flashes that damn Joker-grin, reaching up and twisting a lock of his hair between his fingers. He’s trying way, way too hard to be cute, but the funny thing is that it’s _working_.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he murmurs, stretching his legs out across the bed. “Which is good. I _love_ seeing you happy.” His smile’s softened at some point during the last few seconds, and Ryuji feels his heart skip a beat as he props himself up on his elbows. _God_ , he’s such a sap. Even after a year (or a year and five months, to be specific), every single genuine smile and gesture of affection and declaration of love is a gift. 

“Hah,” Ryuji breathes, not entirely sure how to respond, deciding eventually to settle on a very eloquent, “That’s pretty gay, man.” 

Akira snorts. “What, and two dudes making out _isn’t_?”

“Depends. Like, uh...you know bro hugs, right?” He turns over onto his stomach, crawling over towards Akira and gazing up at him. “Same shit. Just, y’know...bro kisses instead.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” It takes Ryuji a second to realize that Akira’s reached over and cupped his chin with his hand. “That’s a real shame. I was really starting to like you after the hundredth date, Ryuji.”

“Bro dates are totally a thing too, dude. You just haven’t mastered the art of the ‘no homo’ yet.”

“I think your line of reasoning is starting to break down.”

“Shut the hell up and kiss me again.” This time Ryuji hooks his arm around Akira’s neck, and before the latter can make another smartass comment he leans forward and presses their lips together quickly, carelessly, noses bumping up against each other. He feels teeth resting against his lip, tongue sliding across his, a hand slipping into _his_ hair, now, fingers trailing across the nape of his neck. 

His heart’s beating against his ribs, a rapid but steady rhythm that radiates to his stomach, and another little spark of arousal drops downwards when he realizes that he can feel Akira’s hard-on pressing awkwardly against his thigh. It was probably there before, but he still shudders, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter and letting several rushed, fragmented ideas of what he could do with it spill into his brain. 

Akira breaks away for a split-second, and the next thing Ryuji knows he’s on his back again, awkwardly splayed out across the mattress with greedy lips exploring every inch of his face, his chest, kissing the very corner of his mouth then moving down to the sensitive spot under his ear. 

“Honestly, I dunno,” Akira whispers, nibbling gently on his earlobe, and Ryuji swears he can _hear_ that Phantom Thief smile now, “this seems pretty gay to me. But what do I know? You’re clearly the expert on what’s gay and what isn’t.”

“Damn straight.” Ryuji sets his hand on Akira’s hip without really thinking about it, absentmindedly tracing his fingers over the ridge of bone, the slight swell of his stomach. “I know _everything._ Smartest man alive over here.”

“Yep. I envy you.”

Despite himself, Ryuji grins, turning his head and narrowly missing another kiss to the face. Jesus, just hearing that said so nonchalantly makes his heart flutter. Yep, he’s a sap. He’s a total sap. No question about it. He’s completely turned on right now, that pooling feeling in his stomach spreading steadily downwards, but at the same time there’s some part of him that feels like a giggly, shy little kid passing a note to their crush. 

“Okay, for real. No jokes.” He finds himself talking, absolutely zero filter between his brain and his mouth. “I still got no idea what I did to deserve any of this, but I guess that doesn’t really matter. ‘Cause...you’re still here, whatever it was, right? I dunno, I really...I really love bein’ with you like this.”

“I love _you,_ Ryu. So much.”

Ryuji chokes like he’s been punched. “God, are you _tryin’_ to kill me?”

“Yeah.” Akira’s hands trail down his sides, carefully grasping Ryuji’s bad leg and pushing it down onto the sheets. Ryuji’s breath hitches as he feels gentle fingertips running over the scar on his thigh, that old, keratinized incision from a surgery he barely remembers. “But I think this is a pretty good way to die.”

He wants to respond with something snappy, some incredibly clever retort, but there’s this soft, placating fog that’s keeping him from doing much more than sheepishly, silently nodding. Akira’s fingers are tracing patterns across his skin, the outline of his scar, getting dangerously close to slipping under the hem of his boxers every few seconds. He’s taking it all in, letting Akira touch him, letting him pry his legs further apart and place soft, sporadic kisses on his thigh, fully aware of the aching _need_ in his groin but far too content to do much of anything about it.

But there’s suddenly this quiet, nagging voice in the back of his head, telling him that he’s forgetting something, that something isn’t quite right. He furrows his brows, slowly sitting up against the head of the bed, feeling the contact against his skin die off. 

“What’s up?” Akira cocks his head to the side, the faintest bit of concern visible in his face. “Are you not into this? Because that’s completely fine, we can-”

“No, it ain’t that,” Ryuji grumbles, resting his chin on his hand and bouncing his foot anxiously against the mattress. “I just...feel like there’s somethin’ I’m not rememberin’ right now. Like, somethin’ important. Kinda stupid, yeah, but…”

“Important.” Akira taps the side of his face a few times. “Well, we _did_ actually do some studying, the cooking for your mom’s done, Futaba’s birthday presents are taken care of, and...there’s plenty of _supplies_ here, as far as I know. Pretty sure that’s everything.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It probably ain’t that important if I forgot.” Sighing, Ryuji falls back onto the bed. “S-sorry. Think I just killed the mood there.”

“Nope, not in the slightest. Still hard as a rock over here.” That manages to draw a laugh out of Ryuji, and Akira seems satisfied with that result. He leans down again to rub a few more small circles across the rough stripe of scar tissue, slightly rougher, more insistent this time. “You know this mark is beautiful, right?”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t you start with-”

“All I can think about when I see it is how _strong_ you are. How you fought to keep moving, keep running, no matter what happened to you. They drilled screws into your bones, and put _metal_ in you, and you still kept fighting to get that control of your life back. Through all of the terrible circumstances that were thrown at you, you just kept moving forward, and I _admire_ that.”

“Akira-” 

“I hate the fact that you were hurt in the first place, and I’ve had some thoughts before. You know, about finding Kamoshida, and taking the bat he used to break your leg, and...well, I think you get it. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m so damn proud of you.”

“ _Christ,_ you’re embarrassing.” Ryuji throws his arm over his eyes, his face feeling hotter with each passing second. 

“Maybe so. But I’m not wrong, am I?” 

He doesn’t have a response. He knows this shouldn’t affect him as much as it still does, but those thoughts don’t do a thing to change the fact that his heart is thumping rapidly and his stomach is fluttering like a live pigeon is in there and there’s this flush sweeping over his chest. Before Akira came into his life, he couldn’t even remember the last time that he’d been praised, and there’s still this little part of him that’s scared, scared of getting thrown around and rejected and used as an object to take frustrations out on. That part of him is probably the one that needed Akira’s affection the most, hell, the part that _still_ needs it the most.

“I want you,” Ryuji blurts out, his eyes snapping open and his arm dropping back down to his side. His thoughts, his inhibitions have almost entirely ground to a halt. “I...I know it’s kinda obvious right now, but I really, _really_ want you, ‘Kira.”

“You can have me.” Akira cups Ryuji’s cheek with his hand, tracing a little path from his jaw down his neck. “You can have me for as long as you need.”

Both of them try to reach down at the same time, their hands knocking into each other right over the fly of Ryuji’s boxers. Akira’s the one to relent, drawing his hand back and letting Ryuji tug his underwear down his hips, pushing it to his knees before kicking it off the rest of the way. He cracks up when he sees Akira exaggeratedly lick his lips, only for his breath to catch in his throat when he feels slender fingers curling around his cock a split-second later.

Akira starts out slow, running his thumb softly along the faint ridges of his veins, his hand barely moving but managing to draw several rough, shaky gasps from Ryuji’s throat all the same. He’s so careful, so deliberate with every move he makes, stroking upwards just enough to elicit that kind of reaction but not enough to be anywhere even close to satisfying. Ryuji forces his eyes to stay open, stretching his arms out towards Akira and wrapping them around his neck, hearing himself pant, feeling his legs twitch with excitement and anticipation and _need._

Akira’s eyes are half-closed and foggy, his lips slightly parted, a few visible drops of sweat sliding down his face and sticking his bangs to his forehead. He almost looks like he’s somewhere else entirely, even as he quickens his pace, messily smearing pre-cum across his hand.

“This is just...so strange,” he mutters under his breath, without any kind of prompting. It seems like it’s more to himself than anyone else, but Ryuji still stares at him with his brow cocked.

“...D-dude. I dunno about you, but that...that really ain’t what I wanna hear with your hand around my dick.”

Akira pauses, blinking a few times before chuckling quietly. “No, not what I was...sorry. That wasn’t what I meant.” He closes his eyes, gently squeezing Ryuji on the upstroke. “I was just thinking about when we first met. It feels so _natural_ to be with you like this, and I think I’ve always felt that way. Even when we were just a couple of kids against the world, getting to spend time with you was the easiest part of my day.”

“You’re makin’ it sound like-” Ryuji’s cut off by his own sharp inhale at the feeling of Akira’s thumb caressing the head of his cock. “-Fuck, do you _have_ to do that when I’m tryin’ to talk?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re bein’ honest.” He shuts his eyes too, feeling his chest shake with each breath, his throat tighten at the rhythmic, gentle, full-length strokes. “Sh-shit. No, I was sayin’...you make it sound like that was forever ago. And not, y’know, last year.”

“Sure felt like a lifetime to me. How many times does your average person almost die, again? Probably a lot less than what we went through.” There’s another pause, and Ryuji tentatively opens an eye to see Akira looking straight at him with a soft, openly adoring smile. “I’m so glad you’re with me. You saved my life so many times, man. I don’t think there’s any number of handjobs that could equal everything you’ve already done for me.”

And again, Ryuji finds the breath knocked out of him. How the hell does Akira keep _doing_ this? Every time he thinks he’s recovered, Akira just knocks him down with another mushy, sentimental statement, and each and every one of them make all of this feel so...unreal.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be touched like this, _adored_ like this, thoroughly and completely loved like this by the single most talented person he knows. He doesn’t deserve it, but it’s still happening - so what’s the point in being so caught up in the “why”, anyway? 

Ryuji’s suddenly aware of the fact that Akira’s released him, and he lets out a tiny whimper at the loss of contact, trying to make himself look as pathetically adorable as possible. Akira raises an eyebrow in response, which is probably a decent indicator of that strategy’s effectiveness.

“Duuuuuude,” Ryuji whines, pouting even more than before.

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m just getting - wait, where were they…?” Reaching back behind him, Akira rummages through the plastic bins behind the bed’s rail, adamantly refusing to actually look at what he’s doing. His eyes narrow a little bit in frustration, as seconds pass without any luck, one after the other. “Okay, so I’m kind of crashing and burning here.”

“Now who’s bein’ dramatic?”

“Still you.” 

“Ass.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Akira’s fingers close around the little bag stuffed between a few folded shirts, and he pulls it out of the bin as quickly as he can, dropping it on the bed in front of him. Then, without skipping a beat, he closes his eyes and pumps his fist in the air. Ryuji doesn’t know whether he should find that adorable or embarrassing, so he decides that it’s kind of both.

He picks up the bag, unzipping it and dumping the contents messily on the mattress, then tosses it somewhere that he’ll probably wish he remembered in an hour or so. There’s a string of condoms and a nearly full bottle of lube, and Akira grabs for the latter before Ryuji has time to do so much as blink.

“So, what are we doing?” He uncaps it with a crack, crossing his legs. “I’m leaving this up to you. Anything you want is fine by me.”

“Honestly? I just want you to fuck me.” The words form themselves of their own accord, spilling from Ryuji’s mouth. “That’s...kinda it.”

“I like that plan,” Akira says, nodding. “Sweet and simple.” 

Ryuji sticks his tongue out, scooting further up the bed until he’s half-hanging off of it, the small of his back resting against the pillow at its head. He tries to find somewhere to put his legs to make everything easier, far more irritated at his bed’s lack of space than normal. His bad one goes a little too far to the right on accident, and a sharp twinge runs through his hip, making him wince and pick it back up again.

“Ow…” He rubs at his skin, trying to soothe the bone-deep ache at least a little bit. “Sorry. I’m just...man, this damn leg. My bones are yellin’ at me right now.”

“Here.” Akira reaches over the edge of the bed, grabbing another pillow. “If you need more support or something, I’ve got plenty.” Ryuji takes it from him, putting it down and propping his leg up, then exhales as loudly as he can as he lets his other one fall open.

“Thanks, man.” He idly runs his hand through his hair, watching Akira squeeze a bit of lube onto his fingers. “Glad it’s not too annoyin’, ‘cause to me this feels like some serious old man shit. Like, I’m _ancient_ now.”

“Huh. All old and washed up at eighteen. Who would have thought?”

“...You’re a dick.”

Akira just shrugs, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. Ryuji doesn’t get the chance to say anything else, since the second he opens his mouth there’s suddenly a finger pushing inside of him, and his stomach tenses when he feels it carefully curling against his walls. The lube is a little on the cold side, but it does its job, and before he knows it Akira’s added a second digit. Ryuji lolls his head to the side, looking at the wall, but a sudden hand on his face steers him back to Akira.

“I want you to watch me. Watch what I’m doing to you.”

He doesn’t resume until Ryuji’s eyes are locked on his, until all Ryuji can focus on is the darkened, heavy grey gaze looking straight at him and the feeling of being teased, played with, stretched out. Akira’s fingers are slick and warm and deft, searching his insides for the spots that draw the best sounds out of him, and once they find his prostate he’s gasping and crying out over and over again, his voice hoarse and throaty. 

“A-Akira, that’s-” 

“I love you,” Akira breathes. “I know I keep saying it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I don’t think I’ve said it nearly enough, actually.” He twists his hand around, slowly, tantalizingly, applying just enough pressure on that _spot_ to make Ryuji’s legs shake, his hips jerk upwards involuntarily. “There’s a lot I wish I could have done earlier. I regret not giving you the attention you needed, I regret letting you deal with so much shit on your own, and I really, really regret not saying this sooner.” 

He looks so emotionally vulnerable, so genuine. It’s subtle, but the crease in his brow and the tension in his lips give everything away, and a powerful, rough shiver runs through Ryuji’s sides. Holy fuck, he’s going to _explode_ if something doesn’t happen soon-

“Please, Akira,” he gasps, his chest tight. “G-get in me. Please.” 

“Sure you’re okay? I’ve only gotten two in-”

“Yes! Yes. Please.” Ryuji sits up against the bed, grabbing Akira’s free hand. “I don’t care, man, I really don’t! I wanna do this, and I love you so much, a-and…” 

Akira flushes, his mouth snapping shut. He nods, once, pulling his hand back and picking up the bottle of lube again, then snatches a condom off the mattress and brushes the rest off onto the floor. There’s something so hurried and impatient about the way he pushes down the waistband of his briefs, not even bothering to take them off all the way. It barely takes five seconds for him to tear the packet open and slip the condom onto his dick, and another five or so to slather himself with lube. Without another word he’s hovering over Ryuji with his hands set firmly on his hips, the blush beginning to spread to his ears. 

“Just promise me you’ll stop me if I hurt you. Or if you feel uncomfortable, or anything like that. It won’t be a problem, I swear. Okay?” 

Ryuji manages a shaky nod, and that’s all Akira needs to close the distance between them, sliding himself inside with more ease than Ryuji thought there would be. He’s sure as hell not complaining, though, eager and aroused beyond belief, and as Akira reaches back behind him and pulls their lips together once again, he realizes that he hasn’t felt this happy, this content and at peace in a long, long time.

He lets himself fall back against the mattress as Akira pushes forward, back arching and toes curling with each movement, trying desperately to take all of it in, memorize every single thing he’s feeling right now. His heart pounding under his skin, Akira’s fingers trailing lines of fire over his stomach, the delicious, satisfying, _amazing_ sensation of being filled to the brim, all of it. Akira jerks upward slightly, rolling his hips against his, and Ryuji chokes out a moan, his arm flying up to cover his mouth - only to be caught halfway there.

“No. Don’t…” Akira pants. “Let me hear your voice. I want to hear you.” He pushes Ryuji’s arm back onto the bed, his voice low and heavy and dripping with desire. “You’re so _good_ , Ryu...you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Aaah...A-Aki-” He can’t even finish his name. His mouth’s so dry, his chest heaving every time he takes a gulp of air. “I...I keep thinkin’...s-scared I’m gonna screw up...gonna d-disappoint...”

“You never do. You _impress me_.” He emphasizes his words with a deep, hard thrust, and Ryuji almost yelps. “You saved me. You can’t...can’t ever forget that. You’re mine, and I won’t ever let you go.”

“H-haaah...” He has no idea how Akira’s even able to talk that coherently. That’s just another thing that blows his mind about the guy, right next to the fact that _he’s_ the one holding him, touching him, showering him with love and attention. How the hell did he get this lucky? What did he _do_? “Akira...A-Akira!”

“I love it when you say my name like that.” 

Ryuji reaches out, grabbing onto Akira’s sides just to have contact, digging his fingers into his back. There’s a moment where the only sounds in the room are the rough, jagged breaths from both of them and the slap of skin against skin, which abruptly ends when Akira wraps his hand around Ryuji’s cock again and the latter almost melts.

“I love you, Ryuji.” 

“Y-yes, please, _please_ -” His hips buck upwards as Akira drags his hand across his length with every push, every thrust, his brain filled with nothing but the steady rhythm of _Akira-Akira-Akira._ Any vestige of self-control has careened off the tracks and exploded into a fireball. “Holy shit, Akira, h-holy _fuck, so good,_ y-you...ahh, God-”

He’s close, so close, and Akira seems to sense it, re-angling his hand and stroking _hard_ as he slams into that spot again. Ryuji comes with stars in his eyes, jaw dropping and legs trembling, emptying himself all over both of their stomachs. His head’s far too dizzy to form any kind of coherent thought, and the fact that Akira hasn’t stopped moving sends waves of almost overstimulating pleasure through him that ensure it stays that way.

Akira lifts Ryuji’s hips up, slightly, and Ryuji’s struck with this sudden awareness of his surroundings. He still can’t string a single damn thought together, but his senses are bombarded with the creaking of the mattress underneath them, the soft groans that escape from Akira’s lips, the feeling of his own chest rising and falling. The thing that grabs his attention most, though, is the way Akira’s face scrunches up ever so slightly, his nose wrinkling and his eyelashes curling on his cheeks, his hair falling into his eyes-

Before Ryuji can fully register what’s going on, Akira moans _loud,_ his grip tightening to an almost painful level and his head dropping forward, and that’s that. 

He stays slumped over, his breath ragged and shaky, even as he shifts himself off and out of Ryuji and grabs for the tissues sitting on his desk. There’s this glazed look on his face, but his hands move as carefully and methodically as ever to clean both of them off. Akira pulls the condom off of himself, tying a knot in it and tossing it across the room with the wadded-up ball of dirty tissues, somehow perfectly makes the wastebasket, then without further ado collapses face-first into Ryuji’s chest. 

Ryuji yawns, reaching down and winding his fingers through Akira’s hair again. It’s one of those things that makes Akira melt no matter when it happens, and sure enough, Ryuji feels him nod softly, his face still pressed against his skin. He lets himself mess around with Akira’s hair for a bit, realizing that he definitely needs to return the favor at some point. Not today (since despite how appealing the image of Akira moaning and begging for him is he’s so close to falling asleep here and now), but soon.

“Mmm. Fuck me,” he murmurs to himself, stretching out across the mattress, his neck popping quietly. Akira rolls off of him, onto whatever tiny amount of space is left.

“I just did.”

“You know what I-” Ryuji turns, glowering at the smirk he’s met with. He rolls his eyes, swatting Akira gently on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

And Akira just _barks_ out a laugh all of a sudden, not a quiet snicker or under-his-breath giggle like he’s used to, but genuine, full-bodied laughter. Ryuji lies there startled for a second, with absolutely no idea what happened that was so funny, but for a reason he can’t explain, he finds himself laughing too. 

“But seriously, how was that?” Reaching out, Akira runs his fingertips down Ryuji’s chest again. “Everything you wanted and more?” 

Holy shit, _yes_. His heart’s still fluttering in his chest from the praise and adoration, his stomach’s tying itself in knots over how amazing that was, and even though he’s probably going to be a little sore tomorrow he feels so content and cheerful and happy that none of that even matters in the slightest-

“Yeah, it was pretty good.”

Akira grins, picking his phone up off the table in the center of the room, where it had been resting next to his glasses, then settles next to Ryuji, entwining his legs with his. He turns his phone on, idly scrolling through his messages while Ryuji rests his head against his shoulder. 

“Oh, whoops. Looks like Mishima wanted to hang out.”

“Nice,” Ryuji snorts. “When even was that? He send that _when_ you were busy smashin’ me, or before?” 

“Uh...about two hours ago?” Akira narrows his eyes. “Okay, so we may or may not have completely lost track of time. Good to know.”

 _Two hours ago._ Ryuji frowns, trying to remember when, exactly, they’d gotten this caught up in one another. It hadn’t been that long, right? ...Right?

“Hey, uh, dude? What time is it?” It’s probably fine, but he tentatively asks anyway, eyes flickering up to Akira’s screen. 

“7:54. Wait, 7:55.” 

Oh, _shit._ The memory hits him like a freight train. He snaps up into a sitting position, burying his face in his hands and letting out a loud, anxious whine.

“We...we’re dead. Oh God, we’re so effin’ dead right now…” 

“What?” Akira asks from behind him, slightly concerned. “What happened?”

“Ma! Ma was comin’ back at 7:20!” He grabs the blanket, trying to smother himself with it. “Sh-she heard us, she totally heard us, we’re _so_ dead now…!” 

Akira promptly drops his phone on his face, letting out a tiny “ow” as it lands hard on his nose. He brushes it off, though, sitting up with his knees to his chest and staring at his feet, his eyes twitching slightly.

“Yep. We’re...we’re dead.” He reaches over to give Ryuji a few tentative, sympathetic pats on the back. “Any last words?”

“Fuck you.”

“Understandable.”

Ryuji opens his mouth again, but before he can say anything, there’s a loud, sharp knock on the door. He throws the blanket fully over himself, curling into a ball and hiding as he hears it slowly creak open from across the room.

He’s never going to live this down, is he?

**Author's Note:**

> *muffled Roundabout playing in the distance*
> 
> follow me for more self-indulgent bullshit
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdgshPrpQyc


End file.
